


Meanwhile Elsewhere

by shadeshifter



Series: Finding Home [22]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Forever (TV), Highlander: The Series, Leverage, Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the rest of the world keeps happening, despite Tony's team's drama. Or some things that happened that had nothing to do with Tony's team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> I'm debating on Sam/Faith. Any objections?

It had been a year since he'd been brought back and Sam still wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He'd tried going back to law, working as a clerk, but it was ultimately unsatisfying. Knowing everything that was out there, everything he'd experienced, having died and been brought back, he couldn't just pretend to live a normal life. 

He'd taken up hunting again, small jobs on weekends that satisfied some of the deep, gnawing longing within him, but it never felt like he made much of a difference. And it was lonely, working on his own. Where before it had been mired in pain and loss and anger, for the first time he could really understand what had brought Dean to him all those years ago. But Sam couldn't pull Dean away from what he'd built. It was good for Dean in ways Sam hadn't been, couldn't be with the relationship they had. Dean effectively had three older brothers now who would look after him like no one else had since he was four.

It still left Sam at something of a loose end.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Dean would have picked the locked and none of his acquaintances from work would have bothered him without contacting him first. He grabbed a silver knife from his desk drawer and edged to his doorway. Looking through the peephole, he saw a beautiful dark-haired woman. With a grin he pocketed the knife and pulled the door open.

“Faith,” he greeted the woman who had quickly become one of Dean's allies on a case, the details of which he could scarcely believe. He'd met her once, at a bar with the rest of the team, and it had been the most fun he'd had in years.

“Sammy boy,” she said in return, sauntering in to his apartment. He shook his head with an amused smile as he shut the door behind her.

“Something I can help you with?”

“This really what you want for your life?” she asked, looking around. He might have lived there going on a year, but it was still Spartan. Jessica had decorated the house they'd shared, made it feel like a home. Sam hadn't really had that and it seemed like a lie to try to replicate it.

“It pays the bills,” he said with a shrug.

“I get that,” she said, turning to look at him, judging him with her gaze. He raised an eyebrow in question. “What if you had another choice?”

“What sort of a choice?” he asked, curious despite himself. He knew what she was and what she did and the longing to have that life back again was an almost physical ache.

“A few years ago, all the Slayers activated,” she told him. “Hundreds of girls all around the world.”

“I can tell you now, I'm a little lacking in that area,” he said with a grin. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her mouth.

“We're a little short on Watchers.”

“Watchers?” he asked because, while he might have heard a little about Slayers – they were like a hunter fairy tale – he knew very little about the specifics.

“They train and guide Slayers,” she explained. “Sounds a little stuffy, but there's plenty of time in the field.”

“You got dental?” 

“Nah, but there's plenty of travel,” she told him, leaning a hip against his desk and grinning up at him.

“Sounds exciting,” he said, matching her grin. He was speaking the truth, it did sound exciting. He was sure it would be equally frustrating and terrifying, but it would definitely be challenging.

“Eh, seen one hell dimension, seen 'em all,” she said and he laughed.

“Been there, done that.”

“Then you'll fit in just fine.”


	2. Gabriel

An angel, a demon and a pagan god walked into a bar. Well, Gabriel thought, an angel and a demon walked into a bar. The pagan god was already there. 

Forseti sat at the bar, drowning his sorrows in ale. How he'd found decent ale, Gabriel couldn't begin to imagine.

“Loki,” Forseti said incredulously .

“Forseti, old friend,” Gabriel said, slinging an arm around the god's shoulders. Forseti shrugged him off and glared at him, but it was half-hearted at best.

“What are you doing here, Loki?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” Gabriel told him with a sly smile and a shrug. He glanced in Kronos's direction to see the demon rolling his eyes. “That's actually why we're here.”

Of course, it had really involved Azrael refusing to put up with their antics and throwing them out. Banishments might have been involved. But Forseti didn't need to know that. Gabriel wondered if he was still masquerading as a lawyer.

Forseti's gaze shifted to Kronos and he narrowed his eyes when he recognised what he was. Kronos simply smiled maliciously and kept his silence. Gabriel snorted in amusement before stifling it. Kronos really was ridiculous amounts of fun when he wasn't actually killing people, a method of justice Gabriel found too quick and unsophisticated. He wondered what Forseti would say if he knew Gabriel was actually an angel.

“Long day?” Gabriel asked. Forseti had always been such a stick in the mud, and his focus on justice meant that he and Gabriel seldom got on well. Forseti was order to his chaos, but occasionally their aims had matched when it came to serving just desserts.

“Paperwork is not justice,” Forseti told him. They all murmured their agreement and Gabriel signalled the bartender for three more drinks. Forseti drained the last of his ale and, when the new ones were delivered, he pulled one closer to him.

“Any chance I can commission you?” Forseti asked, looking directly at Gabriel, who raised a disbelieving eyebrow. While their aims might have occasionally aligned, they had never worked together.

“You're trying to engage my services?” Gabriel asked. “I'm surprised you aren't insulting me like Odin and Baldur.”

“Whatever grudges we might have had are centuries old and so few of us remain that holding on to them seems pointless,” Forseti told him. They tapped their glasses together and drank.

“Okay, so who is it you want me to teach a lesson?” Gabriel asked with a mischievous grin.

“One of my teams at the FBI,” Forseti informed him. “Any chance you can drown them in paperwork?”

“Wait, you're with the FBI?” 

Forseti nodded.

“Your team wouldn't happen to be run by Tony DiNozzo?” Kronos asked. Forseti nodded again, beginning to look wary. Gabriel started to snicked and Kronos joined him a moment later.

“You know them, don't you?” Forseti said, dropping his head to the table.

“As much as I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, it really isn't worth my life,” Gabriel told him.

“An encounter with one of your agents is what sent us here in the first place,” Kronos added with a straight face. Gabriel was set off snickering again before he managed to control himself. Forseti was going to kill him when he found out exactly what his and Kronos's relationship was with the team.

His gaze met Kronos's and by silent agreement they decided to see for how long they could string Forseti along.


	3. Neal Caffrey

Neal watched Henry look into his microscope again, dessert abandoned in the pursuit of science. Henry was in the middle of an experiment, so they'd agreed to have dinner downstairs where he could monitor it. It wasn't exactly the view from Neal's room, but it was quintessentially Henry. He smiled fondly and pulled out his sketchpad.

Almost without thought his hand marked out the sharp contours of Henry's nose and cheekbones. The hunch of his shoulders and sweep of his back flowed easily. The only sound was Henry's distracted muttering, the tinkering of glass vials and the scratch of Neal's pencil against paper. The addition of the soft sound of footsteps made him turn to see Abe descending the stairs.

“Had a breakthrough?” Abe asked with a shake of his head as he looked at Henry. Neal shrugged.

“I assume so,” he said and they shared a look of understanding. Henry's muttering revealed only partial hints that trailed off to nothing. He'd explain when he was done. Henry spared a brief moment to give Abe a greeting before he was off again.

“I'll bring you a coffee,” Abe told him, patting his shoulder before he headed back upstairs.

Neal turned back to watch Henry measuring ingredients, an expression of intense focus on his face. Pencil moved across paper, capturing the furrow of his brow and teeth pulling at his lip; the shadow of his stubble making him look gaunt and mysterious.

Henry shifted to write in his journal, hand moving in long graceful loops and Neal mirrored the movement, the curve of fingers – long and elegant – taking shape on the page.

He finished with the wild mop of hair, brushed back from Henry's face, forever only hinting at grey. Neal longed to sink his fingers into it, to feel the softness and pull Henry to him. His thoughts were interrupted by Abe coming back with coffee and only long experience kept the flush from his cheeks at being caught ogling the man's father.

Abe raised an eyebrow in question and Neal quickly gestured to the seat next to him. Neal accepted the coffee Abe handed him and sipped at it, letting the warmth infuse him and banish what chill there was in the basement. They say for a moment in silence, though Neal reined in the urge to shift uncomfortably when Abe's gaze fell to the drawing.

The look Abe turned to him was knowing and Neal was aware that his emotions were written across the page. It was why he had kept to copying the work of others for a very long time. Creating his own works left him exposed and laid bare in ways that were never good for a con artist. He cleared his throat and Abe turned his gaze away, smiling faintly into his mug.

This was why every other relationship had been based on lies. It was so easy for them to read him when they knew the truth of who he was.

Hesitating only a moment, Neal tore off the page and headed to where Henry was working. He slipped the sketch between the pages of Henry's journal, knowing that he'd find it eventually.

“Have you found your answers?” he asked, leaning over Henry's shoulder.

“Not yet, but I'm close,” Henry told him, flashing him a brilliant, excited smile.

He really was too old for butterflies, Neal thought, as he found himself smiling back.


	4. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an issue where my file was corrupted and I lost five pages of writing. It was frustrating and disheartening, which is why this took longer than anticipated.

Lindsey was with Dean and Castiel when they were approached by two officers. One was a tall, broad shouldered brunette and the other was shorter and blond. Dean tensed immediately, a reaction learned over his formative years and not easily forgotten, even if he did work on the same side as them now.

“Mr Novak, we have some questions for you,” the brunette said.

Dean edged in front of Castiel, hand dropping to his gun. The two officers tensed and lowered their hands to their guns. They all stared at each other for a long moment, stuck in a stalemate. Lindsey raised a hand to show he wasn't a threat and moved his jacket aside to show them the badge at his waist.

“Agents Lindsey McDonald and Dean Winchester,” he told them. The two officers gradually lowered their guns. Dean didn't move until Castiel put a hand to his arm and softly said his name. 

“Officers Blake and Malley,” the brunette officer said. Lindsey nodded a cautious greeting. 

“We just have some questions,” Malley told them.

“I'm Mr Novak's legal representation,” Lindsey said, slipping back into his memories of being a lawyer, even if that was a few years ago now.

“Isn't that a conflict of interest?” Blake asked with raised eyebrows and a disbelieving quirk of his mouth.

“Well, if you feel that way, I could have my boss call your boss and have a word. How happy would your boss be to have an Assistant Director from the FBI call him about an irrelevant missing persons case?”

Blake and Malley looked at each other, considering their options. 

“I'll talk to them,” Castiel said softly. 

Lindsey glanced at Dean who stared long and hard at him before he finally nodded, jaw clenched. 

“We will meet you at the precinct,” Dean told them, stance aggressive and tone brooking no argument.

The fact that they were looking for Novak meant that it was likely connected with the missing persons case. Lindsey thought that was closed years ago, but it seemed not. If it was the missing persons case, then they'd just want to ask Castiel some questions and meeting them there wouldn't be an issue.

The two officers looked at each other. Malley raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Blake sighed.

Within twenty minutes Lindsey and Castiel were seated across from the two officers in an interview room.

“According to your wife and daughter, you disappeared several years ago,” Blake said, eyes scanning Castiel's face as he tried to judge the truth of his answers.

“It was necessary,” Castiel said, looking earnest in the way only he seemed able.

“Necessary,” Malley said neutrally, looking at him skeptically.

“Yes.”

Lindsey quickly suppressed a snort. Talking with Castiel was never like talking with other people. 

“Why was it necessary?” Blake asked.

“To keep them safe and because Dean needed me.”

“Dean? You mean Agent Winchester?” Malley asked, looking surprised.

“Yes.”

Lindsey coughed in an attempt to cover his laugh at the officers' expressions.

“What did you need to keep them safe from?”

“The forces of darkness,” Castiel said with a straight face. Lindsey coughed again.

“Many of the perpetrators we come up against are both violent and, quite often, deranged,” Lindsey answered easily.

“Why did they need you specifically?” Blake asked, turning back to Castiel.

“Because I'm an an-”

“An ancient and occult cultures and symbology expert,” Lindsey spoke over Castiel before the angel could say anything too revealing.

“And why exactly does the FBI need an expert in that?”

“The aforementioned violent and deranged psychopaths,” Lindsey said with a long-suffering sigh. “Many of them seem to take inspiration from the occult.”

“Yes,” Castiel said after a moment's hesitation.

The officers looked at them skeptically, but there was very little they could do. Castiel's host might have been reported missing, but he was clearly alright, not being held against his will, and he'd done nothing wrong.

“If that's all,” Lindsey said, standing up and resting a hand on Castiel's shoulder to indicate he should do the same. The officers looked like they wanted to object, but Lindsey simply raised his eyebrows. Castiel glanced at Lindsey before turning to the officers and smiling awkwardly. 

“If you have any further questions,” Lindsey told them with a tone that meant they'd better not have any. “Here's my card.”

With a firm hand on Castiel's shoulder, Lindsey led them both out of the room.


	5. Parker

Faith had just dusted her second vampire of the night when her phone rang. She stared at it for a moment, cautious of the unidentified number, then answered anyway.

“Who is this and how did you get me number?” she demanded.

“Not-Eliot gave it to me,” a woman said without really answering.

“Okay,” Faith said slowly. “Tell me who you are or I'll hang up.”

“He told me to call you about the dreams.”

“What dreams?” Faith demanded, suddenly alert where before she had been wary and annoyed. 

“It's dark and there are monsters and I can't get away,” the woman told her, voice small.

Faith wondered if this was one of the fledgling Slayers they'd spent the last few years tracking down. There were so many girls and women though, and so few of them, the Watchers and trained Slayers, that there were still many they knew nothing about.

“Welcome to the freaky world of Vampire Slayers,” Faith told her. “Although vampires are the least of your worries.”

“I met a demon,” the woman told her, seemingly unperturbed. Faith wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

“Did you kick its ass?” she asked.

“We kidnapped his boyfriend and then Eliot shot him,” the woman told her with what sounded like a smile in her voice. “He was very understanding.”

Faith really didn't know what to make of that. Before she could ask, the woman spoke again.

“Time's up,” she said and hung up. 

Faith snorted and put her phone back in her pocket. She had no way of tracking the woman's phone call, not without Sam or Willow and not after the call had ended, she knew that much. The snap of twigs and crunch of leaves made her look up.

“Something wrong?” Sam asked.

“I'll get back to you on that,” she told him.

“I got three,” he said, easily changing the subject. She narrowed her eyes.

“Two,” she told him grudgingly. “Come on, let's finish patrol.”

He grinned as turned away.

…

Faith was in the middle of a beer at one of her favourite clubs when her phone rang again. She moved to a quieter area before she answered.

“Eliot told me to call you again,” the woman said. She sounded petulant and Faith wondered what this Eliot had had to do to convince her.

“We can help you understand what you are,” Faith told her. The woman seemed to hesitate.

“I'm not leaving,” she said. 

Faith wondered how she knew that much about Slayer training, or at least the old version of it. It must have had something to do with the incursion Willow had detected not too long ago. The hacker had only managed to reach the older, less protected, information but it had still been a cause for concern. This new Slayer, fledgling though she might be, already had some powerful allies. Faith just hoped they weren't evil. No one needed a rogue Slayer.

“You don't have to leave,” Faith told her. “We can meet you.”

There was no reply one way or the other.

“Not-Eliot trusts me, right?” Faith asked. “And you trust Not-Eliot? At least enough to call me in the first place. That means you can trust me.”

“Fine,” the woman said finally. There was the background sound of a man talking, too soft for her to make out specific words. After that the woman gave her a location.

Faith knew she's have to bring Sam with her. She couldn't discount that this might be a trap.

…

Parker fidgeted as they waited for the Slayer to show up. Alec sat next to her, monitoring the mall's cameras, looking for any sign of the woman they were waiting for. Eliot had disappeared into the crowds, providing them with some unseen backup.

“They're here,” Alec told her, watching as two people, a dark-haired woman and a very tall man, strode into the food court. They looked around for a moment before focusing on Parker and Alec. Parker's spine stiffened and her hand edged toward a fork left behind by the table's previous occupants. Faith and her companion made straight for them, pausing only to evaluate their surroundings, and took a seat opposite them. Eliot melted out of the crowds to stand behind the two, arms folded.

“Eliot, I assume,” Faith asked with a faint smile. He grunted. “You look just like your brother. I'm Faith.”

“And I'm Sam Winchester,” the man said with a friendly smile. Parker thought he looked like a puppy and she was tempted to pat him on the head. Alec grabbed her hand and entwined their fingers. She pouted at him.

“Any relation to Dean Winchester?” Eliot asked, eyes narrowed.

“He's my brother.”

They all relaxed a little at the mention of people they trusted, even if it was once removed. 

“Tell us everything we need to know,” Alec said, squeezing her hand. Parker nodded.


End file.
